


More To Life Than Rush

by InkandOwl



Series: Love and Feeling [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier's Werewolf, Road Trips, Trans Eddie Kaspbrak, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkandOwl/pseuds/InkandOwl
Summary: It doesn’t matter that he’s right there in bed. That Eddie could curl up against him and hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. That he could feel his warm skin underneath his fingers and be held in Richie’s arms and feel safe. If he really wanted, he could wake Richie up and ask him to have sex again.The problem, Eddie thinks, as he slides his fingers harder and faster into himself, breathing frantic, is that Eddie wants Richie more than he knows what to do with. More than he can bring himself to ask, more than he should be so greedily sapping from Richie— more than he deserves. He loves Richie so much it makes him dizzy and he wants and wants and thinks about asking Richie to sink in his teeth and his fingers and justconsumeEddie, but Richie’s demons— his monsters are his own fears of himself and Eddie is a different sort of monster for wanting him to selfishly let go.—Or: Richie and Eddie drive to New York a year after Derry and Eddie is terrified that his love for Richie is bigger than he is capable of controlling.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Love and Feeling [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665349
Comments: 29
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Rapacious From the Very Start, which you don't have to read but I recommend it. Not because it necessarily lends to the story but because it's very sweet porn and 4k of Eddie and Richie giggling in bed like a couple of hooligans.

It’s cold outside when Eddie kicks his boots against the step rail of the lifted truck and mutters darkly, “People are going to think I have a microdick or something.” Beverly hums thoughtfully, a faint brush of her hand against the small of his back as he hoists himself into the driver's seat. 

“It’s the only thing they had at the rental place.” Her wrinkled nose says apologetic but her terribly hidden grin says entirely calculated. “Look at you, Eddie Kaspbrak, with your flannel shirt and your hood.” She tugs at said hood and laughs, “You look so rugged like you smoke cigarettes.” 

Eddie makes a face at that and Beverly laughs, “That’s disgusting, also—” He leans down from his comically high throne, “We are forty, Bev, I don’t think smoking is that scandalous anymore.” 

Beverly shrugs and watches Richie stumble out of her house with his duffle bag slung over his shoulders. He lilts to the side like a drunk and ends up walking with one foot in the grass and one on Bev and Ben’s chic stone driveway. “It isn’t, but the way you’re going to let _Richie Tozier_ have his way with you in whatever dirty roadside motels you end up in, is.” Eddie presses a finger to his lips and shushes her, “I’m going to tell everyone in gym class about it.” 

“Jealous?” Eddie challenges her with a quirked eyebrow. 

“I heard you let him get to third base with you in the movie theater.” Beverly leans forward and whispers, “I heard you let him go _all the way_.”

“Ed.” Richie’s voice is stilted in breathlessness as he slings his bag in the back of the truck, “How the fuck did you get up here?” 

“With a can-do attitude. Can you hurry the fuck up? You spend so much time bitching about how long I take and me and Bev both got our AARP cards delivered to us right here while we were waiting on you.” Eddie moves a stack of papers off of the seat so Richie can climb in. 

“I was saying goodbye to Ben.” Richie tells him, a little wistful and fumbles with his seatbelt. 

They see Bev and Ben, and the other Loser’s as well, frequently enough, but something about Ben and Richie together always turns into a Broken Hearted Poet’s Society. They have this connection of pining fools, so wrapped up in their own giant hearts and their selfless love that they can’t help but snap together over it. Eddie thinks it’s sweet that Richie has someone else in the group that can squirrel away with him over a glass of wine and talk about how in love he is. How warm and safe and settled it makes him feel. Because Richie deserves that. And Ben deserves that. 

Bev shares a knowing look with Eddie and he smirks, “Did he tell you anything good?” 

“I let him read my journal.” Richie winks and pats the dashboard, “Onward, Sir Edward, I wanna hit the Dunkin’ drive thru before the morning rush hits.” 

Eddie leans down, kisses Beverly on the cheek, “Bye, Bevvie.” 

“Come back whenever, i’m serious.” 

She gives Richie this glassy eyed look and Eddie can’t actually look at Richie right now or he’ll start to cry. Saying goodbye sucks a lot. 

They’re twenty miles out of Chicago, coffees firmly in hand when Richie goes digging through his bag in the back seat. It’s an awkward array of limbs, trying to get something without taking off his seatbelt. “Do you want me to pull over?” 

“What?” Richie’s voice is breathless, “No, I got it— just— sweet.” He throws himself back into his seat and does nothing to try to fix his shirt where it’s all twisted up and very excitedly holds up a cassette. “Ben had this in a box of shit from Derry.” 

Eddie grins and reaches out a hand for it, “It’s going to be all New Kids On the Block and Culture Club. Ben had the _worst_ taste out of all of us.” He flips it over and his chest tightens up. Scrawled over the label, with blue ink that dried in tackly globs from a cheap pen that probably saw the inside of a washing machine a few times, it says ‘From Richie, with love’. He takes his eyes away from the road for a record breaking three seconds to look at Richie, “You absolutely have to put this on right now.” 

Richie laughs and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth— something that shouldn’t look cute on a forty one year old man, but it’s the way Richie’s left eye crinkles up more than the right and he just looks so fucking happy. It’s fucking _cute_. “This shit doesn’t work, man. We tried it in the garage, some of the tape is worn away.” Eddie makes a sad noise and Richie pats his thigh, “I’ll sing it for you, I guarantee I can guess exactly what was on it.” 

“How?” Eddie challenges. Richie’s always been deeply into music. In a way that had him all over the board with genres and songs. He could go from a very soulful rendition of Danke Schoen to Blue Monday by New Order and it would be a seamless transition.

Richie takes the tape out of Eddie’s hand, twisting it delicately between his fingers, “Cause this one was for you.” 

He says it like he’s still afraid Eddie’s going to know he likes him. That Eddie will figure out his crush and go, “Ew, Richie, what’s wrong with you?” It’s heartbreaking. “You never gave that one to me.” Eddie takes Richie’s hand back and places it back on top of his thigh, tapping his fingers against the top of Richie’s knuckles. 

“Yeah, I kept it in my nightstand forever and then I gave it to Ben for safe keeping when I went on that family trip to Virginia. I had this fear that you would somehow end up in my room and you would find it, or one of the others.” 

“But it was okay if Ben knew?” 

Richie huffs out a laugh, “I didn’t tell him who it was for, and he was a romantic too so he never asked. I think he knew though.” 

If anyone had asked Eddie back in the eighties, and the nineties, who knew Richie the best, he would proudly boast that it was him. He knew what really made him laugh. What made him angry and happy and sad. He knew what Richie’s favorite band was, his top five movies and which of his teeth were the most crooked. But he didn’t know back then, what Richie was really afraid of, and that sometimes when he was giggling under the covers of Eddie’s bed, their legs tangled together and listening to an EP from the Bloodhound Gang, that Richie was lonely. Richie was the happiest he felt when he was with Eddie and he was the lonliest. 

Eddie hands Richie his phone, “Make a playlist on my Spotify, if you remember the tracklist so well.” He taps the screen, “Password is twenty four, twenty five.” 

Melt With You by Modern English ends up on there twice, and Eddie gets ridiculously excited when Add It Up by the Violent Femmes kicks in and he can’t stop laughing when Richie croons out “But something won’t let me make— love to you!” And air guitars his way through the bass riff. It’s a stellar playlist and Eddie is mad that Richie never gave it to him. He tells him at least seven times between their stop for lunch and the time they make it to a hotel in Ohio. 

It’s not a shady roadside motel like Beverly suggested they would end up in, because despite them being a bunch of sad losers chasing after parts of their youth, they’re also _mostly_ ridiculously happy forty year old men with real jobs and enough money to spend on places where the doorknob doesn’t fall off when you try to lock it. And they’re trying to get Richie to New York to a writer’s room where he’s working on a new Netflix series. 

See? 

Real adults.

Eddie dances around in the lobby of the hotel, faux fur trimmed hood pulled up over his head because he still can’t shake the cold from outside. How they ever lived in Maine is so beyond him. “Richie ‘m gonna get some coffee.” He mumbles at him and holds up his gloved hands to make a point while Richie talks in the phone about something work related. 

He nods at Eddie and says “Hey, get me one too. Decaf, I don’t want to be all jittery all night.” The concierge is still putting all their info into the computer and Eddie swats Richie’s hand away when he tries to dig out cash. As if Eddie doesn’t have his own money to spend. “No, no, sorry, I was talking to my boyfriend.” Richie says to whoever he’s speaking to, and Eddie practically vibrates about that. 

His boyfriend. 

Like they’re sixteen and Richie’s gonna play him Wish You Were Here on his acoustic guitar on his bed after school or something. 

Eddie beams at him and Richie huffs out a laugh when he shoves his frozen hands into his pockets and practically skips away to the Starbucks that’s attached to the lobby. This place is fancy. 

He orders two decaf mistos because he knows real caffeine will give him a panic attack right now and he just wants something to warm him up. “Do you take the app?” Eddie asks the barista. 

“Yeah, but I can’t redeem your rewards.” She tells him in a bored tone. 

Eddie from two years ago probably would’ve been a little irritated about that. Not enough for him to say anything. Not because he wants to even use a reward, but because everything seemed to be a hair trigger away from setting him off. Every single person he met could see right through his carefully crafted personage and see all those missing things that he couldn’t remember, and they were disgusted by it. Because forgetting your entire childhood was a pretty fucked up ordeal already, but to have blocked out seventeen years of your life only to know that one day you were in New York with shaking hands and black market testosterone in a syringe really fucks with a person. The nineties weren’t easy. 

Eddie just grins pleasantly, “That’s okay, I can save up the points.” 

The girl scans his phone and he leaves a ten dollar bill in the tip jar.

They drink their coffees on the fluffy king sized bed in their room, watching a marathon of The Alienist. “You know I met Daniel Bruhl once?” Richie says and then adds, “Not really, but like— sort of.” 

Eddie stares at him for a moment and then a laugh bursts out of him, “What the fuck does that mean?” 

Richie grins around the mouth of his coffee lid, “He was at a premiere party and it was post Age of Ultron and since he played Zemo he was getting more popular in America. Anyways, we ended up talking in the same group of people and like, said some things to each other but we never really properly introduced ourselves.”

“Like— Baron Zemo from the Howling Commandos?” Because Eddie loves his comic books but he doesn’t know shit about the Marvel movies. He’d only gone to see the first Captain America because Bucky Barnes was his favorite as a child. 

Richie snaps his fingers excitedly, “That’s the one!” Richie clears his throat then and his jaw gets all tight. It’s something he’s done since he was a kid— grinding his teeth and clenching them while he tried to figure out how to say a string of words that weren’t a joke, only now his jaw is basically cut from marble and Eddie can see every tense pull. “You know when I came back to Derry and I saw you again, I didn’t want to tell you how I felt because I thought I was just clinging to— you know— kid Eddie.” They don’t really talk about the Great Derry Return. They talk about their friends, and the fun things from when they were kids. They talk _too_ the other losers every single day, in fact, but they don’t do much talking about _Derry_. About It. 

“Kid Eddie wasn’t very cool.” Eddie puts his empty cup on the table and curls up against Richie’s side. He’s wearing a fluffy bathrobe from the shower he took, too lazy to put pajamas on, and Eddie sneaks the tips of his fingers underneath the fold of it so that he can feel the soft hair on Richie’s chest and the warmth of his skin. 

Richie laughs, “No, he wasn’t. Neither was kid Richie. You rocked my world though.” He kisses the top of Eddie’s head. 

“I’m still not very cool.” Eddie taps their feet together. 

It’s an open invitation to rib at him, and Richie goes quiet before saying, “You are though. You’re hilarious and you listen to the coolest music, even new shit that i’ve never heard of. Like, congratulations on getting out of the 90s synthpop, dude, you’ve got fucking Purity Ring on your top five artists of 2018. I know we talk about how happy we were as kids, and how much fun we have, but you’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you. You’re so—” He gestures over the front of Eddie, “You.” 

Because as happy as the Losers made him, and as happy as he was on a bicycle, tearing through the streets of Derry as some androgynous little gremlin that got called ‘young man’ because none of their voices had changed yet, that hadn’t lasted forever. Because Eddie had started to grow up, and where Mike got broad shoulders, and Stan got sharp facial features, Richie with his patchy facial hair, and Bill and Ben with their deep voices, Eddie did not. He got curves and a chest and a face that stayed soft and round in the cheeks. He had days locked in the bathroom with only Bev who ate candy with him and brought him tampons so he wouldn’t have to change a noisy pad in the men’s restroom. 

When he had left Derry and his mother’s house, he had completely transformed himself. Took the wheel and said, ‘To hell with it, Eddie Kaspbrak or bust’ and even though he was still lonely and mostly miserable, it was to the same depressing adult reasons as everyone else. With his friends back and Richie Tozier occupying his space and his time and his bed, he has nothing to not be happy about. 

“I think you’re cool too.” Eddie admits quietly, then kisses Richie’s neck because he’s embarrassed and he has to occupy his mouth or he’ll say more sappy shit that Richie will bring up constantly for the rest of their lives. Richie makes a happy noise and rolls Eddie over, kisses him into the bed while Eddie laughs. 

They’ve created such a perfectly beautiful thing— so rightly, Eddie and Richie, or more _EddieandRichie_ , that Eddie has this new, fun anxiety in him. It’s brought screaming to the forefront of his mind when they’re like this, kissing in bed and teasing, tickling, working up to something more. It happens when Richie leans a little too heavily on Eddie’s wrists when he pins them to the mattress, keeping Eddie from digging his fingers into Richie’s ribs and making him laugh. Or when their breathing picks up, turns heavier and their kisses become deeper and Richie bites Eddie’s bottom lip— the sharp edge of teeth and the tease of pain next to pleasure making Eddie arch up into his touch. Makes him whine when Richie grinds his thigh up between Eddie’s legs, only for a moment, but enough for Eddie to want to chase after the feeling. 

He also knows that Richie has this Thing. 

A werewolf shaped, fear driven, self hatred type of thing, and so Eddie doesn’t think that he can ever delicately broach the subject of, “Hey, Richie, sometimes you do these little things that start to hurt when we’re having sex, and I actually want you to do that more.” 

The sex they have is just fine, anyways. It’s good actually, even great, so Eddie is _not going to let himself complain_. 

So Richie sheds his robe and Eddie’s clothes, spreads Eddie out underneath him and gets him eager and wet with his fingers and his tongue. He pushes inside of him with his thick cock, builds him up just right, his hips driving down into Eddie until he’s pinned to the mattress. Nothing more than a panting, pleading mess while Richie tells him how much he loves him, how good he is, how perfect, how beautiful, how right, _EddieEddieEddieyoufeelsogood, baby, sweetheart, love_. And Eddie comes because Richie feels good too, and the words curl, lovely and warm inside of Eddie’s chest, and he very much can’t complain. 

They’re curled together naked, Richie using Eddie’s shirt between Eddie’s legs to clean up Richie’s cum where it’s dripping out of him, gentle like the kisses he presses against his shoulder. “Richie?” Eddie watches the glow of the television cast light against the ceiling. His heart is starting to hammer in his chest and he’s sure that Richie is going to catch onto it. He just hums instead, “Do you ever— Is there anything you want to, um—” Richie stops his hand between Eddie’s thighs, the soft material of the shirt a soothing pressure where he’s a little sore, the throbbing sort of afterglow of having had Richie thrusting inside of him. Eddie wants to put his hand on top of Richie’s, wants to push hard so that he can get that weird pain/relief that he’s chasing. Like pressing on a bruise. 

Richie notices the tiny movement of Eddie’s hips, where he’s trying not to grind against Richie’s hand and through the thin fabric, brushes his thumb over Eddie’s clit. It’s so gentle and Eddie whimpers because he wants it hard and too much, “I didn’t know you weren’t finished, baby, you should’ve said something.” 

“I did finish.” Eddie confesses, breathless and quiet. He could fall asleep right now having had satisfying sex, but now that his mind is clinging to the Thing, and he’s nothing if not resolute, “Just sensitive right now.” 

The moment the admission sinks in, Eddie can see it on Richie’s face and he moves to pull his hand away but Eddie stops him with a hand on his wrist. He looks so confused Eddie is starting to feel bad, “I don’t want to hurt you—”

There it is. The werewolf. Eddie lets his wrist go and wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling him down for deep kisses, “You’re not, baby, i’m just coming down.” 

He kisses Richie pliant and happy and settles into his arms for a few minutes before they’ll have to break up this sleepy comfort and Eddie will have to slink off to the bathroom and properly clean himself up. 

Richie is mostly drifted off, no longer humming back responses to Eddie’s talking, when Eddie does lock himself in the bathroom. He gets rid of his clothes, shifts on the balls of his feet on the cold tile floor while the taps to the sink warm up. There’s a thick slide inside of him, warm and slow like molasses where cum rolls out of him. Eddie shoves his hands under the faucet, frantic to wipe it away because this is always the gross part of sex. The part where Richie isn’t here with his kisses, and his hands, and his sweet goofy words to make Eddie glow and want to bask in whatever disgusting bodily fluids Richie wanted to smear all over him and inside of him. 

Before he can take care of it, Eddie catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He’s sex flushed, hair tugged into every direction, and he drops his eyes to his lower half. To the slippery shine between his thighs. His cheeks flush at the sight of it. 

It’s a fleeting thought, and Eddie glances back at the door, as if Richie would ever wake up, or ever get through a lock. The impulse is strong enough, though, and Eddie takes a deep breath before hitching his leg up onto the countertop, grateful for yoga and flexible genetics. He’s never looked at himself here after sex— he doesn’t really look at himself here much anyways, there’s never really a reason. There’s a strand of cum, draped between his thighs where he’s brushed them together and some of it pooling right in his entrance. His cunt is still pink and a little swollen, clit engorged and poking out of thick black hair and Eddie dips his fingers between his slick folds, groaning at the sensitivity and the sight of Richie’s cum bubbling up around his finger and dripping over his skin. 

He pumps his fingers through it and his thoughts are _Richie Richie Richie_. It doesn’t matter that he’s right there in bed. That Eddie could curl up against him and hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. That he could feel his warm skin underneath his fingers and be held in Richie’s arms and feel safe. If he really wanted, he could wake Richie up and ask him to have sex again. 

The problem, Eddie thinks, as he slides his fingers harder and faster into himself, breathing frantic, is that Eddie wants Richie more than he knows what to do with. More than he can bring himself to ask, more than he should be so greedily sapping from Richie— more than he deserves. He loves Richie so much it makes him dizzy and he wants and wants and thinks about asking Richie to sink in his teeth and his fingers and just _consume_ Eddie, but Richie’s demons— his monsters are his own fears of himself and Eddie is a different sort of monster for wanting him to selfishly let go. It breaks his heart. 

It only takes Eddie working himself up to the edge, rubbing hard over his clit and then he’s coming, legs nearly giving out beneath him. He’s genuinely sore now— worn out and struggling to keep his eyes open and he switches the taps over to cold water, to soothe all of the twitching ache. 

Eddie forgoes his clothing when he gets back into bed, pressing himself along Richie’s side. The blankets in this hotel are fluffier than they keep them at home and the pillows are almost comically gigantic, but Eddie likes sinking into this oversized bed. His naked body surrounded by soft cotton and Richie. 

When Eddie dreams, Richie sinks his hands into Eddie’s chest— grips his heart where it beats in his ribs. Eddie cries, tears running down his cheeks, and his neck, all the way to Richie’s hands and Richie cries too. He asks, “Why are you so sad, Eds? Does it hurt? I only ever hurt you.” And then they’re children, with tear streaked faces and freckles more vibrant from the sun. Eddie watches the way his heart beats in Richie’s hands and he sobs. 

“I’m sad because I want to give you more but that’s all I have.” It looks so human there, unimpressive as a bleeding, shaking organ. Eddie wipes his eyes on the back of his scrawny arm, against the scratchy pink fabric of his sleeve. There’s blood down the front of his dress, that gathers in his skirt where they’re sitting in the dried grass of the barrens, and Richie pushes a long strand of brown hair out of Eddie’s eyes, tucks it behind his ear. He can still feel the way it tickles the back of his neck, falls over his shoulder. “I don’t want you to remember me like this.” He tells him and Richie smiles softly. 

He leans forward and presses his lips against Eddie’s, soft and quick, “Whatever you want, Eddie. I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

When Eddie wakes up, Richie is curled around him, snoring softly in his ear. He watches his chest rise and fall until Richie wakes up, kisses Eddie’s face all over and practically croons out, “Baby, you’re pantsless!” in his crusty morning voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments about how soft and sweet they are, but here's 4k of them being filthy. With a soft and sweet ending? I'm on Tumblr @inkandowl

They take the world’s goofiest route to New York because Eddie absolutely _has_ to stop in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. They’re standing in front of a metal sculpture of Mothman when Richie whistles, “He’s got a sweet set of abs, I bet Ben would be so jealous.” He snaps a picture on his phone and it only takes a moment for Eddie’s to go off in his pocket where Richie’s dropped it in the group chat. 

Eddie narrows his eyes at the statue— really takes it in. “He looks like some offshoot of Mechagodzilla. Mecha-Mothra?” 

“They only had Mecha-King Ghidora. Mothra just got obliterated.” 

“As per usual.” Eddie sniffs, “Let’s get lunch, I think my blood sugar is crashing.” 

They stop at a diner that serves farm to table food and Eddie considers buying an entire carton of their cherry tomatoes as he thoughtfully pops another in his mouth. “Is this everything you wanted and more?” Richie has his face propped up against his hand and he grins. There had been a lot of ribbing from him when Eddie said that it was important to him that they stop and scope out Mothman’s stomping grounds, but ultimately, Richie conceded that they still had a good amount of days to get to New York. “We can visit your boyfriend, Eds.” Richie had said and that was that. 

“I was hoping I would see him.” 

“Mothman?” Richie quirks an eyebrow. 

“Mmhmm.” Eddie hums around a tomato. 

“I saw what his ass looks like on that statue, should I be worried?” Richie picks at the crust of his grilled cheese. Eddie just shrugs and he laughs. 

It’s still cold in West Virginia, just not as desolate as Ohio, and Eddie has a gnawing warmth in the pit of his stomach. An itchy heat that burns under his skin and he thinks about monsters. About Mothman, and werewolves, and he laughs bitterly. “What’s wrong?” Richie kicks at his foot underneath the table. 

They haven’t talked about this yet, because Eddie is letting it _ruminate_. Everytime it comes up they’re alone, and naked, and usually have parts of themselves inside of each other, and the intimacy of all of that? Eddie can’t control what the fuck he ends up saying in those moments. 

Here and now, though, they’re crammed into a booth, both stuck to the cracked vinyl seats under yellowing lights, and there’s enough of the general public around that they’ll both keep it relatively PG if things should escalate. “You ever—” Eddie breathes, pushes the tomatoes around on his plate, “Do you ever want something you already have?” 

Richie is silent, but the look on his face suggests it’s because he’s trying to make heads and tails of Eddie’s question. “Like— more of what you already have? Like, ‘Wow, I really love this grilled cheese, I want seven more grilled cheeses’?” Richie includes hand motions and animated expressions with this. 

“Yeah, kind of.” Eddie tucks his hands between his thighs underneath the table, “But you know if you eat seven sandwhiches that it’s not healthy for you, and you’re being sort of greedy, because someone hungrier than you could use a grilled cheese. But here you are with a whole plate and there are really nice, starving guys, who know their limits and wouldn’t expect so much grilled cheese, so really you’re just sort of fucked up for being like that.” 

Richie pushes his tongue around his teeth, eyes wide and concerned on Eddie and he leans back finally in the booth, “Huh.” His hair looks extra wild today from being underneath a beanie, “Is our relationship the grilled cheese?”

This wasn’t a good idea. Eddie pushes his dish of tomatoes away and slumps down in his seat, crossing his boots underneath the table. “No.” He says. Stubborn and resolute.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Eddie, this sort of feels like you’re breaking up with me?” Richie’s voice is all tight and reedy and Eddie is suddenly concerned he might pass out, “But judging by the face you just made, you’re not?” Eddie shakes his head, “Can you spell it out for me, I’m sort of— Floundering.” 

This is the part where more planning would’ve been nice. Eddie sitting down to pen out what it is he’s actually asking for. Is it rougher sex? More sex? More cuddling? Richie’s hand in marriage? He ends up shrugging, “I don’t know what to ask for.” 

“From me?” Richie looks up at the waitress and mouths a quiet ‘thank you’ when she tops off his coffee. “Is it a sex thing? Are you asking me for a sex thing? Because you’re all red right now.” The waitress disappears before she can pour Eddie his own coffee. It’s probably for the best. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” Eddie hisses and Richie laughs like it’s the best joke he’s heard in years. 

“You’re the one who brought it up, Eds! Are you afraid i’m going to be like, grossed out or something? Cause you’re it for me, buddy, you’re the sexiest guy to rock right into my world. You could tell me you want me to sit on balloons or rub cake on my dick and I would do it right here in public.” Richie looks so earnest in his Mothman hoodie and his wild hair and wild eyes and Eddie wants to laugh. Or cry. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Eddie says quietly, mortified by how choked off and unsure he sounds. Richie reaches across the table then, grabs both of Eddie’s between his own and mutters out a soothing series of ‘hey, hey, none of that’ and kisses Eddie’s knuckles. “I’m just—” Eddie leans forward, glances around when he keeps his voice low, “I feel like I want it all the time. Even after i’ve finished and i’m not even sure my body could handle anymore, I _want more_.” Eddie looks up and Richie’s lips press closed, “I’m sorry, please don’t say anything, forget this whole conversation.” 

It starts as a small whistle of air between Richie’s lips and then a snort, and he only laughs for a moment before he’s pressing his hand to the side of Eddie’s overheated face and telling him, “Oh, hon, don’t get all sad, I’m not laughing at you.” Eddie shoots him a fiery look and Richie grins, “Well, I am, but not because of all— this. Did you think I would be weirded out because you want me? My boyfriend just told me he’s super horny for me, that’s like a dream come true.” 

“I don’t think you understand—” 

“I think I do.” Richie cuts him off, “You want me to do more? Want me to keep you open on my cock all the time?” Richie’s words are dark and low and Eddie can’t stop the small gasp, the heat pooling in his gut and Richie can see it all over his face, grin turning coy. He leans over the diner table, thumb brushing over Eddie’s bottom lip, “I’ll give it to you whenever you want.” 

He kisses him, and it’s soft and the opposite of what his words make Eddie feel. Eddie keeps his eyes closed, shudders at Richie’s breath ghosting lightly over his lips, “Will you give it to me whenever _you_ want, too?”

When Richie leans back on his elbows, his expression is thoughtful, but there’s something guarded there too. “Eddie—”

“I want you to.” Eddie waves the waitress over for their check, “I want you to take it when you need it. I want you to let yourself go.” Richie’s throat presses down in a long swallow and Eddie kicks at his shoe under the table, “I’ll tell you to stop, you know I will. And I know you’ll listen.” 

“Gentlemen,” The waitress places their bill down, held together with a little glittery moth sticker. This place is committed to its brand, “Enjoy the rest of your stay.” 

They have incredibly vanilla sex when they settle into their bed and breakfast, townhouse get up right on the edge of the woods in West Virginia. It’s almost comically bland sex, where Eddie grips Richie’s shoulders while he thrusts into him at a moderate pace in missionary position _the entire time_. Like they’re two virgins after homecoming or something. Eddie wants to throw a goddamn fit, but he also thinks he’s pressing his luck after their earlier conversation. So he fakes an orgasm, just so Richie will finish up, and then throws himself into a cold shower where he stares at the stream of water and pouts. 

If Richie doesn’t want to do what Eddie talked about, he would like to at least go back to the sex they were having. 

The bathroom door opens and Eddie startles, “Rich?” 

“Sorry,” Richie mutters, “Just cleaning up, gotta brush my teeth. Sorry if it gets cold for a second.” He turns on the sink and Eddie doesn’t tell him that he’s already standing under an arctic stream in an attempt to work away any longing that might be clinging to his skin. Richie rambles, even with a toothbrush in his mouth, so Eddie at least knows that he isn’t mad at him. “They’re showing Tombstone on four different channels right now, do you want to watch it?” 

Eddie smiles despite himself, because this is the weirdest running joke they have. That no matter where they are in the world and no matter what time of day, they will manage to find Tombstone playing somewhere, on something. And they’re gonna watch it. “Yeah, duh.” He says and Richie whoops. 

“Hurry up, I don’t want to miss out on another minute of these mustaches.” 

Eddie sighs, “Yeah, alright, give me a minute.”

He turns off the water once Richie closes the door and pushes his hair up out of his face, looking up at the ceiling and gritting his teeth. He’s being dramatic. It’s also the first time he’s been toweling himself off, with Richie on the other side of the door, that he hasn’t thought about shoving Richie back down on the bed and sitting on his face. Maybe this is Richie’s plan all along. To mow down Eddie’s libido before he asks Richie to dominate him in bed again. “Dickhead.” Eddie grumbles and ties the towel around his waist. 

The TV is practically blaring when Eddie steps out and he winces, “Rich, turn that down, you’re going to lose your—” Eddie’s mouth dries up, throat clicking when he swallows. Richie turns an easy grin on him, sitting in the plush armchair in the corner of the room and lazily stroking his cock. It’s already fully hard, leaking at the tip where Richie pushes his thumb over the slit and drags precum down his shaft. It means that Richie started touching himself in the bathroom, while he was talking to Eddie. 

“Why don’t you come take a seat, sweetheart?” Richie’s voice oozes false innocence and Eddie practically falls over trying to get his towel off and scramble into Richie’s lap. Richie stops him with his hands gripped hard on Eddie’s waist, “Turn around, sit.” 

His voice is low, and Eddie turns his back to Richie, straddles Richie’s thighs where he’s slouched forward in the chair. He’s wetter now than he’s been all night, the demanding sound of Richie’s voice going straight to his core and he lines up the tip of Richie’s cock with his entrance. 

Richie doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t grab ahold of himself or try to touch Eddie while he eases himself slowly— down and then up, to spread his slick and work Richie inside of him. His hands are back on Eddie’s waist then, fingers biting into his hips and Eddie is held entirely stationary. “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t sit down all the way?” 

Eddie whines, the tip of Richie’s cock buried up inside of him, “Give me a minute to work up to it.” He says, breathless, “You know you’re big.” 

“That’s never been a problem after we have sex though. You’re always nice and loose for me after you come, I should be able to sink right into that sweet cunt.” He pulls Eddie halfway onto his cock, kissing his shoulder blade when he moans and grips weakly at Richie’s thighs underneath him for support, “So tight right now, baby.” He waits until Eddie catches his breath and then seats him all the way, pulling Eddie’s back against his chest when Eddie cries out. 

Eddie squirms in Richie’s lap, teetering on that brink of too much, too soon, and it’s blinding. Richie spreads his thighs, pulling Eddie’s legs apart with him, and he slides his hand down Eddie’s taught stomach, over his happy trail. He runs his middle finger, feather light over the top of Eddie’s clit and feels the area where they’re connected. “Richie—” Eddie’s voice is a strangled whimper as his body adjusts. 

“I’d give you more, but you’re not wet enough yet.” Richie growls in Eddie’s ear, and it won’t be long until he’s a flood down there if Richie keeps it up, “You think I don’t know when you’re done?” He brings his hand back up to Eddie’s mouth, pushes two fingers between his teeth so that Eddie can lick at them, “Next time you decide to fake it, you better leave some of my cum up here to keep you slick, so I can fuck a real orgasm out of you.” He thrusts his hips up, harsh and quick and Eddie cries out around Richie’s fingers before those are also wrenched out of his mouth and shoved between his legs. 

Eddie whimpers and moans, dripping over Richie’s cock as wet fingers work his clit. He’s gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles ache and Richie settles back into the chair, pulling Eddie’s body back with him. Richie plants his feet firmly against the floor and rocks up into Eddie with deep, unhurried motions, “Shhh, baby, you’re being too loud.” He wraps one of his arms around Eddie’s middle, the other hand resting on top of his shaking thigh, “Wanna watch the movie, right?” 

What Eddie _really_ wants is to bounce himself in Richie’s lap. To take and take and take, but Richie’s arm around him is firm and unfaltering, and he’s fucking into Eddie like it’s simply a mindless comfort. Like rocking in his chair back home, kicking off with one foot lazily while he stares at the TV. “Richie, wanna come.” Eddie breathes out, face tucked against Richie’s neck, spreading his thighs wider as if it will invite Richie to fuck him harder and deeper. 

“Huh.” Richie huffs out like that’s so interesting. “You know what _I_ want?” He asks, voice petulant like a schoolyard bully, “I want to see what it looks like when I come inside of you. Wanna see it dripping out of you. Think i’m gonna have to film that so I can watch it when i’m at work all day thinking about filling up my sweet boy.” 

The thought of Eddie being recorded makes his whole body flush. His knee jerk reaction being ‘Absolutely no, never! What if someone sees? What if you see and you hate it? What if—’ “Richie, please, please, please.” 

Richie reaches for the table beside him, and it jostles Eddie in his lap, making him moan. Richie pats his thigh, “Sit up for me, not all the way.” Eddie pulls up, Richie still buried half inside of him as he gets his feet gripped against the carpet. “Open the camera, hold it in front of you, nice and still. I want to get a good view of me fucking your sexy little pussy that I can jerk off to later.” 

Eddie’s fingers shake as he opens Richie’s phone, flipping the camera view forward. He grips the sides of it, sinking it down in between his legs and just the thought of something capturing this very moment— Richie holding up Eddie’s thighs so that he starts thrusting into him, makes Eddie feel hot all over. He’s afraid he’s going to drop the phone when Richie’s pace picks up, brutal and erratic. Eddie feels himself getting tight, just a little more from Richie, some attention to his swollen clit, a few well placed thrusts and he would come undone. But it’s like Richie knows. _Of course_ he knows. He has Eddie’s body down to a T, which is apparently how he’s found himself here anyway— impaled on Richie’s cock, moaning like a porn star while Richie pulls him down into his lap, twitching his release inside of Eddie with a shout muffled against Eddie’s back. 

He keeps his hands still long enough to catch all of Richie’s climax on the camera, standing up slowly to catch the slow drip of cum over his cock where it runs out of Eddie, and then he turns it off, tossing Richie’s phone onto the bed. He climbs back into Richie’s lap, facing him now and happily runs his hand down his own torso, ready to finger himself through Richie’s release, when Richie grabs his wrist, yanking it away. “What are you doing?” 

Eddie frowns, “I’m really close.” 

“Oh!” Richie pushes his sweaty hair off of his forehead, “Now you wanna come for real, huh?” 

“Don’t tease me, Richie, I just wasn’t feeling it earlier.” He lies, kissing the corner of Richie’s mouth sweetly, hoping to appeal to that lovey dovey side of Richie that can’t say no to Eddie being soft in his lap. Eddie keeps kissing his lax mouth, slipping his tongue between Richie’s teeth. If he keeps pushing himself against Richie, their bare sweaty skin covered in Eddie’s careful, open mouthed kisses, then he’s hoping Richie will give him a hand soon. What he doesn’t expect is a thick and sudden intrusion shoved inside of him roughly. It’s too hard, too bumpy and dextrous to be Richie’s softening cock, and Eddie looks down between his legs and whimpers. Richie has two fingers, buried to the knuckle inside of him. 

His fingers move carefully, pressing and prodding in all the right places but not _enough_. “Why didn’t you want it earlier? I thought you wanted to have sex all the time.” Richie’s eyes are dark, boring into Eddie’s and he wonders if Richie is going to get hard again. 

Eddie whines and rocks back on Richie’s hand. He slips in a third finger and it’s so much, so thick and he’s struggling to breathe. “Not— not like that.” Richie slips all three fingers out to the tip and then shoves them back in again and Eddie sobs, “Want it like this. Want you to give it to me like this.” He makes a point to drop his hips down hard. 

He’s so close, so close, _so close_ — 

Richie’s fingers are gone and he’s lifted up, dropped onto the bed. “Don’t touch yourself. I’m going to make you come when I wake up, but only if you don’t touch yourself.” 

He sets about the room turning off the lights so that it’s only the glow from the TV lighting the room, and Eddie can only sit back on his elbows and stare at him like he’s never had a cognizant thought in the world. His body is still clenching around nothing, still worked up and on edge, and Eddie pulls his knees together. “You’re going to wait until morning?” 

Richie falls onto the bed with a tired sigh, yawning as he settles into the pillows. He digs his phone out from under him, “I said when I wake up. Which could be whenever.” He pats the bed next to him and Eddie is powerless to do anything but curl up on his shoulder, “Don’t worry, you’ll know when i’m up. Or— feel it, I guess?”

Eddie’s fingers press just a little deeper into RIchie’s chest and he bites back a whimper. Richie’s glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose slightly, and he regards Eddie over the top of them. The look he gives him is a studied one. A warning, silently saying, ‘I’m telling you now I want to touch you while you’re sleeping. Yes or no, Eds’. Eddie hitches his leg up over Richie’s thigh, nods his head against his chest. 

“I like this.” Eddie whispers and he smiles when Richie’s cheeks redden. 

“Yeah?” He kisses Eddie’s smile, “Wanna watch our home movie?” Eddie nods his head quickly, because unlike _someone_ he is still a wound up ball of nerves. The video is a little shaky, because Eddie is only human, and the sounds he’s making make his face heat up, but Richie presses the volume as high as it will go. He knows that that’s his body, that it’s Richie’s cock driving up into him, wet and thick, he was there. He felt all of that only minutes ago. But seeing it on a screen from this angle, the way he looks stretched around Richie, puffy and aroused has a moan clawing its way out of Eddie’s throat and he wants to hide in embarrassment. 

“None of that, baby.” Richie jostles him with his shoulder, “Look how good you look. God, I want to taste you, all sweet and wet like that.” Eddie shoves his hands under Richie’s body to stop himself from shoving them between his own legs. 

“You could taste me right now.” He offers and Richie quirks an eyebrow, making a frustrated sigh filter out of Eddie. 

Richie ignores him the rest of the video, until his own cock is fattening up on screen— twitching where it pulses inside of Eddie. Eddie stills Richie’s hand when he groans, about to put his phone down, to let him know there’s still more. He watches with hooded eyes as his cum dribbles over his still twitching cock, down the underside to his balls and then the picture is sliding away into a blurry mess and stopping. “You got the whole money shot.” Richie kisses Eddie slowly, open and deep, “Still filled up like that right now.” He slides his hand over Eddie’s side, to the sharp cut of his hip bone, “Gonna fill you up with more soon.” 

It’s cruel and Eddie whines, “Just fill me up now.” 

He’s a full grown man, he shouldn’t be made to throw tantrums for a creampie. 

Richie stretches, pulls the sheets up over them and yawns again before feigning thought. “No.” He decides and snickers when Eddie practically yells, swatting his chest. 

In the end, he doesn’t have to wait more than two and a half hours, because Richie wakes up, buries his face between Eddie’s legs, that talented, hot tongue licking him awake. The wet, slow pulse of it leaking like molten heat into his dreams until he’s aware that it’s his own, waking body that feels this good— and then once Eddie comes, sobbing and shaking around Richie’s tongue and his fingers, Richie buries his cock inside of him again. 

When they wake up for real in the morning, Eddie is sore and he’s disgusting, but he feels sated and full and happy, and he stretches his limbs out wide and makes a pleased noise when Richie wakes up too and wraps his entire body around Eddie like an overgrown koala.

It’s when they’re in the shower, Richie’s fingers digging shampoo into Eddie’s hair, that Richie presses a kiss to the top of Eddie’s shoulder and very delicately asks, “That wasn’t too much, was it?”

Eddie’s mind doesn’t connect with the words Richie’s saying right away and he turns in the stream of warm water, looking up at him. Registering all that barely concealed concern on Richie’s face. He’s always been an open book. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s middle, broad and soft with a sturdy chest made perfectly for Eddie to lean into, “It was perfect. Did you like it?” 

Richie hums, a small sated smile on his lips and he kisses Eddie as a response. “I really like that I have that video on my phone now.” 

The mortification of that settles over Eddie now that he’s not all strung out on sex, “Is there anyway I can convince you to delete that?” 

The laugh that bubbles out of Richie is contagious despite Eddie wanting to lay down on the floor of the shower and attempt to drown himself in the inch of water that’s collected there. “No! Would you ask Van Gogh to destroy Starry Night? For what’s his face to tear up the Mona Lisa?”

“Da Vinci?!” 

“Baby, it’s art. You don’t go around _deleting_ art.” Richie runs his hand over the front of Eddie’s chest, tugs at some of the dark hair on his sternum and Eddie winces pinching Richie’s nipple hard in retaliation making Richie cry out through his laughter. 

“You’re the worst. God!” Eddie shoves the faucet off and rounds on Richie, “Don’t you dare let anyone else see that video. Not even Steve. I know you told him about that Valentine’s day, he couldn’t look me in the eye for a week.” 

Richie crosses himself, “My eyes only, Ed.” He follows Eddie out of the shower, drips all over the rug like a dog, “I think you should consider letting me project it onto time square though— oh! Stonehenge.”

Eddie makes a strangled noise, emerging from his towel with a scowl, “Richie.” 

He drags his name out and Richie laughs low in his chest, pulling Eddie up into a tight hug, “No one is going to see it. This—” He slides his hands down Eddie’s back, delicately over the curve of his ass, “Is just for me anyways.” He kisses Eddie sweet and slow, “And I am all for you. Always. Whenever you want.”


End file.
